


Needing Your Touch (The 199999 Remix)

by Firelightmystic



Series: 2018 Stony MCU Bingo [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: 10yearsofmcu, 2018 Stony MCU Bingo, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, And A Few Orgasms, Angst, Bingo, Comfort Porn, Established Relationship, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, More Smut Than Angst, Multiple Orgasms, Porn with Feelings, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Smut, Smutty Angst, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Gets a Hug, Steve Rogers Needs a Hug, challenge: mcu bingo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-23
Updated: 2018-05-23
Packaged: 2019-05-10 11:25:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14736074
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Firelightmystic/pseuds/Firelightmystic
Summary: Steve has never been a stranger to pain, and the serum only seemed to gift him with more. Tony, however, knows how to work around the trickiest of situations.For my Stony MCU Bingo Shield Free Square.





	Needing Your Touch (The 199999 Remix)

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thanks to Simi for the help! Enki, I think I owe you, like, all of my non-essential organs for yanking my behind out the fire and getting this all hammered into shape, lol. Thanks so much!! Any errors or randomness is purely due to my hard-headedness.

Steve was in pain.

He always had been. 

Today was no different. 

Steve was used to it, though. From the first struggling breath he ever drew, he had known pain. His spine was crooked, and his back had long been a knot of tension and strained muscles. His legs ached, possibly from polio though he’d blessedly missed it ever fully presenting. He was weak and fatigued easily, and his own sparse weight sat too heavy on his brittle bones, leaving him wishing for a moment of relief, fleeting though it might be. His joints ached in the winter and when it rained, and when it was hot his skin burnt and peeled, leaving him miserable whether he was inside or out. His asthma reared its head often and without mercy, leaving him gasping and wheezing and struggling for a breath that just wouldn’t come, and when it did it was just barely enough air getting through his burning lungs that had squeezed tight and left him light-headed and unsteady on his feet.. 

And then there was the illness. It was always something, growing up. Colds, influenza, pneumonia, three different polio scares, and a barely dodged bullet with TB that _had_ ended up claiming his mother instead. The instances where he was relatively fine were so incredibly outnumbered by the constant deluge of physical miseries that each one stood out as a particularly shiny jewel of a memory. 

There was “That One Time In June of ‘26 Where I Was Good For Almost The Entire Month,” 3 ½ weeks he’d made it before having one of the worst asthma attacks of his life. Then there was “That One Christmas In December of ‘27 Where I Didn’t Have The Flu,” which was an actual miracle because literally everyone else around him had gotten it and little Sallie Jennings _died_ from it. And of course, “That One Weekend Back In ‘28 Where Bucky Caught A Cold And I Didn’t Get It.” Steve hadn’t meant to be smug about it, but Bucky had been so _insulted_ about the whole thing--especially after Steve never got it--that he’d been moody for days after recovering. 

He’d grown up pale and skinny and sickly and in so much pain, but he’d grown up. He’d lived, and he’d struggled, and he’d survived, and he wore his pain like a badge of honor, not glorying in it, but proud because look at what he’d gone through. Life had seemed to take a personal offense to the existence of little Stevie Rogers, but he wasn’t going to roll over and die for anyone or anything. Certainly not for his own rebellious body. 

Doctor Erskine’s serum was going to fix all that. 

It was supposed to. And in a way, it did. 

But it ultimately made everything so much worse. 

Sure, it made him stronger, faster, and much tougher than he’d ever imagined he would become (even knowing what the serum promised beforehand), but the one thing that no one had taken into account was the side effects. Namely, that the serum had exponentially increased his nerve sensitivity. The touches that registered as benign to other people could grow to become distinctly uncomfortable to him, pleasurable touches were almost so intense as to become unbearable, and pain itself was a fresh hell that made him long for the days before he’d become enhanced. 

The middle of the battlefield was no place to discover that shrapnel in skin felt like being ripped open on barb wire and stung like a swarm of enraged wasps. The Italian front taught him that bullets--which normally weren’t initially painful for others until the aching kicked in upon realization that they had actually been shot--felt like being stabbed with jagged knives instead of the usual reports of dull bee stings or hard punches, immediately followed by sticky wetness and then the burning kicked in. 

Dear God, the burning. 

The smaller the caliber, the neater the entrance and sharper the burn, like a hot needle being rammed into his wound, while the larger caliber bullets were just an unbearably intense throbbing, like the time he ignored his ma’s warning and grabbed a red-hot skillet. Buckshot just punched deep into his skin, producing a suffusive ache across the wound,like the time his mother had warned him away from the stove but he’d touched it anyway. The beams from the strange Hydra weaponry that harried them across Nazi Germany felt like his skin was being melted off and charred through to the bone, and it left his flesh excruciatingly tender days after he’d completely healed the damage. Oh, he healed up his damage quickly and completely, with no scarring to show for the havoc heaped upon his body, but the process itself was _miserable._

Healing had become its own special breed of torture, because the serum had left him considerably more aware than normal people were of their body. His injuries itched and stung as they knit together, producing an infernal buzzing under his skin as nerves and tissue regenerated that he could do nothing for. Broken bones and fractures compounded the problem, because he couldn’t even scratch or massage the affected parts; he was left pawing ineffectually over the site of his injuries, barely able to produce anything except a vague unsatisfying pressure. He didn’t, insult to gory injury, even have the luxury of painkillers. The serum metabolized any sort of foreign agent introduced into his system far too quickly for them to be effective, so he had two options: bear up under it like a man, or haul his wounded aching ass across the European Theatre screaming and leaking tears the entire way. 

Captain America would be a laughingstock. 

No one would respect him. He’d be right back to the weakling he’d hated being, a disgraced failure of a science experiment who didn’t even have the balls to fight alongside his unenhanced comrades. Unable--and even more unwilling--to expose his suffering, Steve followed in the fine tradition of a millions of shell-shocked soldiers and remained stoic, sucking in his pain and holding it inward, waiting for when he could safely unleash it and vent in private. 

,If ever there was a moment he could have vented out all his pain--emotional and physical--it was after he lost Bucky. He could have yelled, could have wept, could have smashed things, just...put a hole through the wall and had a raging fit. He could have done all that, unloaded decades of pain and a war’s worth of horror and trauma underneath the guise of lashing out over Bucky’s loss--but everyone expected him to be in control. Somewhere along the way, people had forgotten there was a simple man behind Captain America, and they expected him to constantly be some kind of paragon of virtue and strength. Everyone had their damn eyes on him, watching to see how he handled this personal disaster, waiting for the _excitement_ , like his life was some damned picture show for their grotesque amusement. 

Steve sucked it all in, all the years of pain and his bitter heartache and his rage and self-recrimination and handled it like the man he was expected to be. He plunked himself down at a table with a with a bottle of liquor he couldn’t get drunk off and killed the whole thing off shot by shot, howling internally as he died in small increments. He wallowed for a bit, but he didn’t mourn; not like he wanted to. He’d do it later, when he could finally be away from all the oppressive attention. . 

Later never came. Not like he’d hoped or ever expected.

The ice...he remembered an incredible chill, and a stinging, biting freeze that left him horrifically numb, and then everything had just...stopped. He lost all sensation, he lost all ability to think as he drifted deeper and deeper into unconsciousness, and he lost his place in time.

Everything.

He lost everything. 

Waking up had been...unexpected. Dazed and confused and barely processing the fact that he _wasn’t dead,_ Steve had immediately been subjected to the raw tearing hurt of being entirely out of place as he had his face rubbed more and more into all the people he’d lost (not just Bucky now, but _all_ the Howlies, and Phillips and Howard and _Peggy, oh God_ ) and the time that had been stolen from him (seventy years, a whole lifetime gone). 

He’d never known loss could ache worse than any physical affliction. It was bitter in his mouth. It crowded in around his ribs to crush his lungs and rip and tear and stab at his heart like a poisoned blade. It churned the acid in his stomach and the fatigue of making it from one moment to the next cramped his muscles, and he wasn’t sure which was worse--all that, or the physical pain that was ever present, and had somehow grown even worse because all that time in the ice? It had set the serum on edge, made it more sensitive, and he’d had no choice but to soldier on through it all and try to scrape out some sort of semblance of acceptance with his horrific lot in life.

He’d been away only days, not even a whole month, and then he’d been sent right back down the chaotic spiral. 

Aliens? Sure. That was what he’d been missing. Fucking aliens. 

Hydra was back--had never really left, to be honest? Steve had never felt so enraged--bad enough that he had suffered so much and given up literally everything, but to learn it had ultimately been worthless? That he had given up everything and Hydra still managed to prosper in his absence? 

And quick on the heels of _that_ disastrous revelation was Bucky. 

God, _Bucky._

Bucky was alive, but had been brainwashed so hard all he knew was murder and targets in between scraps of memory and Steve had failed the one person who had mattered the most in his whole life. Completely and utterly _failed him,_ and the knowledge stewed in his guts and that sick and sour feeling would not go away. 

That one...that one had broken him a bit more than anything else, and confessing to Tony about Howard and Bucky and what Hydra had warped his closest friend into--it had shattered him. It had shattered Tony, too, but somehow they’d managed to pick each other up and piece themselves back together and somewhere during the process they’d become...integral to each other. Peggy had been his past, but Tony was the future, and he’d drawn him into something that felt a little like home. 

Tony had been so careful--still was, in some ways--and for all Tony loved his carnal indulgences, he’d been very solicitous. Tony also wasn’t stupid. The serum might have been Erskine’s masterwork, but Howard had originally helped with the technical aspects before later replicating it himself decades later. For all Tony claimed to have begged for scraps of Howard’s affection, he had made it clear that his father never once denied his son any iota of knowledge. Tony, he suspected, knew exactly what Steve was going through, but he hadn’t yet worked his way to laying it out in the open. 

No, Tony had to be aware, and was probably working his way up to something. 

He’d take another day to wonder what Tony was up to, though. Today? Today he just wanted to curl up in a ball and not _feel_ for a while. They’d been tearing their way through Hydra bases all over the world searching for some sign of Bucky, or Loki’s scepter, or both, and it was always a new experience because Hydra was nothing if not full of nasty surprises. Today’s egregious specialty? Mechanized Body Armor. He, Sam, and Natasha had dropped in on a Hydra bolthole outside Prague, only to discover that some wretched soul had decided to try and outfit Hydra agents with repurposed remnants of Justin Hammer’s knock-off War Machine armors. The things still packed one hell of a wallop, and he had the bruises, burns, and scratches to show for it. 

Steve hadn’t felt quite this miserable since the days of World War II, and all he wanted was a too long shower, and maybe a rub down with that BioFreeze Tony kept stashed before he crawled into bed. Steve felt a little guilty. Tony was always so keyed up after combat, but he was always in so much pain he had little to no energy to attempt anything, and more often than not after a mission--after he’d showered and crawled into bed and tried to will as much numbness up as he could--Tony would eventually slip away into the bathroom and take care of himself before returning to cuddle up against Steve and drift off to sleep. It wasn’t even like Tony _complained_ about it--Tony was so tolerant, never pressuring Steve for more despite obviously wanting it, and some days Steve suspected it wasn’t so much as tolerance as determination to take whatever bit of Steve he could get his hands on and not rock the boat for fear of losing the little he had. It wasn’t fair to either of them, but Steve was equally unwilling to lose Tony, so they skirted around the elephant in the bedroom as much as best they could, and Tony settled and Steve...endured. 

He always endured. 

A dark curl of self-flagellation and frustration wound its way through his stomach, acidic and nauseating, and Steve shed his clothing on the way to the bathroom, tossing aside pieces of his uniform and gear with a bit more force than he usually employed.

Thankfully, Tony had stayed behind, citing conflicting obligations with Stark Industries, so it wasn’t like Tony was primed and ready to go fresh out the armor. He wouldn’t have to disappoint Tony this time.

At least...at least the shower would be good. 

Steve pushed open the door to the master bathroom, and stopped short, his undershirt falling to the floor as he grip loosened in shock. 

The black and gray marbled sunken tub that took up most of the northwestern corner of the room was filled with steaming hot water and a neatly organized assortment of bottles were laid out on the shelf carved into the matching marbled wall. A stack of the luxuriantly soft bath towels Tony preferred were settled on the nearby counter in the center of the room, and the massive shower opposite the tub was running, and Steve gazed longingly at it, already envisioning standing under the spray created by the massive rainfall shower head that reached across the entirety of the shower’s ceiling while the four horizontal jets--two each on the opposing walls of the shower--soothed away his aches and pains for a while. 

The lights were dimmed almost to the point of being entirely turned off, but that didn’t matter because almost twelve candles were spread across the room, the pockets of soft light amplified in the mirrors reflection so that the room fairly glowed. The candles were tall and olive green affairs that filled the entire bathroom with a surprisingly nice blend of eucalyptus, sandalwood, and vanilla that didn’t irritate his nostrils. 

In the center of it all was Tony, wonderfully, gloriously naked, an inscrutable expression on his face. It might have been appraisal, might have been lust, might have even just been Tony mentally off on a tangent and staring through him. 

Oh no...oh yes, god...Steve groaned lowly in the back of his throat. Tony...Tony was an attractive man, and Steve didn’t go a day without wanting him, but yet another excruciatingly awkward encounter that left them both unsatisfied and treading carefully around the other would break him right now. 

What was _wrong_ with him?

Steve’s Adam’s Apple bobbed as Tony strolled toward him, completely at ease in his own skin, before stopping just in front of him. 

“Hey there, soldier.”

“Tony I--” 

Tony’s kiss was soft but insistent, and Steve gratefully fell into it, let Tony take control for the moment. Normally Tony kissed with intent, quickly turning the most chaste of kisses into something wet and dirty and _perfect,_ but this time he kept it slow and light, and all the more intense for it. When Tony finally pulled back, Steve was unable to stop himself from trying to follow after him, but was met with Tony’s index finger, pressed lightly against his lips. 

“Come on, Brooklyn. Let’s get you squared away.” 

Tony caught Steve by the hand and drew him over to the shower, pulling him along until he was in the middle of the different sprays, and the easy flow of warm water over and around his body--such a difference from Tony’s own painfully rough and scorching blasts--began to offset the worst of his aches. 

There was a sharp snap behind him, and then Tony was liberally squeezing liquid soap onto his shoulders. Oh. Right. He was in the shower to get clean, not linger under the shower, and Tony--Steve startled as Tony smeared the soap up and down his arm with blessedly gentle strokes, then began working it up into a thick lather that cut through the layers of sweat and dirt he’d accumulated--Tony had apparently decided to take over as bath attendant. 

Steve let out a low groan as Tony squirted more soap over his body, continuing his self-appointed task with a graceful efficiency that Steve honestly appreciated. He wanted to speak, wanted to complain to Tony about the day, check in with Tony and see how _he_ was doing, but the words clogged up in his throat and he was just so damn tired, and just being able to stand there while Tony took care of him was an exercise in bliss. 

Steve let his head fall forward so that the soothing downpour hit the back of his neck and top of his shoulders, rolling them slowly as his muscles began to lose some of their stiffness. 

Tony circled around him, moving from his right arm to his back, and Steve pressed back into Tony’s touch, seeking the contact on his sore muscles for a moment before losing his nerve and backing away as the perfunctory scrub grew uncomfortable. No fool Tony, he eased up on the pressure and pressed an apologetic kiss to Steve’s shoulder blade, light and almost teasing, and it was just enough to tip back over into pleasurable. He’d been halfway hard just from the shower and Tony’s tender ministrations, but he stirred to full attention, and Steve groaned inwardly. This was going to be a disaster, please don’t be a disaster, couldn’t his body just cooperate for once an--

“Shh. It’ll happen if it happens, but don’t worry about it,” Tony murmured in his ear as he moved from his back to his left arm. 

The reassurance helped a bit, and Steve closed his eyes, reveling in the soft massaging wash. “Alright, Tony.” 

“That’s better.” Tony stepped back from Steve and turned to reach for the bottle of shampoo he kept nearby. A quick three pumps, and then Tony was rubbing a handful of shampoo between his hands before ordering Steve to lean his head back. Steve obliged him, and Tony smeared the shampoo on his hair with broad strokes, coating all of his hair with the thick teakwood and tea tree oil shampoo that made his nostrils tingle with the crisply exotic scent. 

Tony, Steve had discovered, loved to play in his hair. Whenever Tony happened upon him, it was almost inevitable that those restless fingers would find their way into his hair, tousling and stroking it absently. It was nice enough, but Steve preferred the moments when he would lean into the touch and press his scalp against Tony’s hand. Tony would instantly switch to massaging his scalp, and the soft pressure and gentle scritching of Tony’s blunt nails was soothing enough that he could actually forget about his general discomfort for a few minutes. It was never enough to entirely dull the tension and aches that nipped at his heels, but he _could_ be distracted away from it, could be overwhelmed with softer, headier sensations, and be made to forget for just a while. Tony--always a quick study--was rapidly mastering that particular art, and Steve was more than glad to reap the benefits. 

Tony started slow, rhythmically massing his scalp with the pads of his fingers so that he lulled Steve into a half-drowsy state as the softest of pleasures stole over him, a lazy, peaceful sort of haze that left Steve humming and moaning low in his chest as Tony continued the soothing shampoo, loving the chilled tingling produced by the tea-tree oil and the way that it warred with the heat of the water.

Unfortunately, overexposure to such a strong sensation began to work against him, and his scalp was tingling more and more sharply, the cooling sensation just a bit too strong, and he began to edge towards uncomfortable from the astringent effects of the tea tree oil.

Tony was quick to assist after Steve made a protesting noise, angling him this way and that in order to easily wash away the heavy lather with long sure strokes across his hair, as if he were some lovable dope of a lazy dog, sprawled across his owner’s lap and hoping for pets. 

Tony eventually reached out to another pump bottle, and then vanilla and apples blended in with the scent of the tea tree oil and teakwood and hot dampness of the shower, creating a fragrant woodsy scent that reminded him of the custom creams and lotions Tony and Natasha returned with from those indulgent day spas they liked to sneak off too.

This was even better than the shampooing had been, Steve realized. The thick lather of the conditioner gentled the aftereffects of the shampoo and put a comforting weight on his head that slowed Tony’s scalp massage to a molasses-like crawl. That haze of relief and comfort began to ease back over him, and Steve sighed and began to shift his head this way and that, greedily urging Tony to pay attention to this spot or that one as the need arose. 

Slowly, Tony curved his hands into claws and the massaging became scratching; nothing too vigorous or rough, however, but a careful scrub that worked up the thin layer of mission sweat and days of product residue that hadn’t entirely been washed away. 

Steve just let himself luxuriate under Tony’s spell, floating in that soft in between as scratching became massaging once more, and then a mixture of both that he didn’t even try to follow or guide, but just simply appreciated. Once Tony was done washing his hair and had thoroughly rinsed it, he spent a few more minutes just massaging his scalp, using both hands and working it until Steve was practically purring under his touch. 

Tony finally (sadly) abandoned the scalp massage and moved back to his torso, rubbing his hands across the hard planes of his abs and his pecs, scratching lightly through his chest hair. Steve shuddered suddenly, the vague pleasantness shifting and turning into something more urgent, heightened to an arc of sudden _want,_ the soft tugging and light pressure sending sparks of desire through his body and straight to his cock, which bobbed eagerly under Tony’s hands. There was no way Tony could have missed that, plastered against his front as he was, and sure enough, Tony’s hands stilled and a curious noise escaped his throat. 

Tony repeated the gesture, that same light scratch, and Steve’s breath caught. 

“Tony, I--aagh!”

Steve panted out a broken moan and let his head fall down into the crook of Tony’s neck, swept up in the blaze of pleasure Tony had produced by lightly rubbing a roughened thumb over his nipple. 

Tony repeated the move with his other nipple, and Steve groaned long and low, his hips jerking convulsively against Tony’s body as liquid heat stirred deep inside him. He was fully hard now, rock hard and aching for relief, and he gasped for air, too turned on to breathe properly. Steve shuddered and cried out as Tony leaned forward and _licked_ his nipple, the soft and moist heat almost too much to take as it sent constant bursts of pleasure radiating out from it and down through his body and straight through his erection like a livewire. Tony continued to mouth at the pert nub as he trailed his other hand up to flick and stroke over the other. 

It was all too much, the spray of the hot water, the slow teasing and the intense pleasure roiling through him, and Steve rutted against Tony’s hip as he urged him backwards until they hit the wall. Tony wrapped one arm around Steve’s neck and tugged him down into a filthy kiss while his other hand wrapped lightly around his erection. 

This was the part Steve normally dreaded--when pleasure turned to ache because he couldn’t handle the abrasive feeling of too rough hands on his most sensitive parts. So many times they’d ended up together, seeking a mutual release, and it so rarely worked for him. Oh, it was easy enough to get him started, get him riled up and ready to go off, but then he got stuck on this horrid plateau of sensation that was too much, but too good to ignore, and he got hung up in the interplay between it all. His head got muddled, the pleasure turned sour, and his climax drifted further and further away. 

He would chase it sometimes, goading Tony on, or forcing himself to push past it until he was a near sobbing ball of frustration, rubbed raw and on edge and too wrapped up in his own head to do anything productive about it. Tony, bless him, always seemed to take it personally, comforting Steve and calming him down and never quite daring to ask if it was him, if he was doing something wrong, but not entirely able to hide the self-blame that lurked deep within his eyes. Steve wasn’t stupid--he could see the way Tony seemed to retreat into himself once the inevitable occurred, no doubt mentally replaying everything to find the flaw, the moment everything went wrong, and devising a game plan for next time. 

Sometimes--and more often than not lately--they skirted around the whole messy scenario. There was kissing and cuddling and caresses, but nothing with actual intent; nothing to actually move things up to the next--often disastrous--level. Tony would then...stop. Just, slowly taper things off and let them bask in the mild pleasantness, but Steve would stare deep into those brown eyes, see him cataloging things away, analyzing and mapping some grand thing out, and he wanted to tell him that it was okay, that he was flawed goods and he just--he just--oh _shit._

Steve rolled his hips, a fluid filthy maneuver that followed the twisting, slick wind of Tony’s hand up and down his erection, the sensation too good to ignore, demanding his attention as it began to build low and warm in his body, a too-familiar song and dance. Steve let out a whine that might have been frustration, might have been apprehension. 

“Shhhh...trust me,” Tony whispered against his lips.

Tony’s hand dropped from around his neck to reach for something set aside on the nearby shelf, and the distinctive snap of a tube cap being snapped open sounded just above the dull roar of the shower. Warm gel was liberally poured over his erection and Tony spread it across the rigid length with a feather-light touch that left Steve throwing his arms out so he could brace against the shower wall and not collapse on top of him. 

Tony finally coated him enough that he must have been satisfied, since he carelessly tossed the bottle back into the confines of the hollowed out shelving and didn’t bother to look as it rebounded off the wall and skittered across the shower floor. 

Steve didn’t know what kind of lube Tony had gotten a hold of in his persistent quest for products that wouldn’t put a damper on their love life, but it was perfect. For all Tony rigorously maintained his hands and nails, he was unable to escape the myriad nicks, scrapes, and calluses that were the badge of his career, and even a gentle touch that would have felt perfectly fine to anyone else felt abrasive on his more sensitive parts.

This though...this was thick and slick enough that it offset the natural roughness of Tony’s palm, and Steve found himself rolling his hips, chasing more and more of the frissons of pleasure that traveled through him as he thrust into Tony’s loose hold. Tony’s fingers would occasionally drop out of their loose fist and take on a life of their own, each one moving in their own little sphere of influence. Tony’s thumb would unerringly find its way to the head of his erection, spreading the thick precome there around the sensitive flesh, nothing rushed or hurried in his movements, just slowly indulging Steve’s whims as he picked up on them. 

“Oh yeah, honey, just like that. Take your time, Steve.” 

Tony hummed with satisfaction as Steve began to pump in and out of his grasp, and he leaned forward to take Steve’s nipple back into his mouth and squeezed his erection. The different interplay of sensations threw Steve off momentarily, and he gave an almost bewildered wail as they all ran through him. There was the electric tingle that shot down through his nipples and through his nerves, and there was the warm throbbing that pulsed from his erection in time with Tony’s squeezing. Both of them were good, but they were each so different in their effects that Steve couldn’t adapt to either one, couldn’t get overwhelmed on anyone thing but was instead pinioned between them, each one different but still pleasurable. 

“You smell so good, Steve, taste so nice...” Tony licked up the side of Steve’s neck, which earned him a rough groan that trailed off into a gasp as Tony’s wicked hand slid all the way down his length to carefully massage his balls, and Steve cried out as Tony suddenly pressed into his perineum, and it was like being lit up from the inside out. Steve let out a guttural moan, snapping his hips back and forth in Tony’s reformed grip as dark encouragement and lewd praise was whispered in his ear--a sweet torment all on its own. 

“You feel so good in my hand, Stevie darling, so slick and hot and you’re so _hard._ I love it, love the feel of you, the way you’re so heavy and just dripping for me.” Tony nibbled at Steve’s ear as he continued the obscene litany, and Steve broke, crowding into Tony’s space until he was flush against him, grinding and rubbing against Tony, letting out a pleased hum as he grew more and more aroused until he was just as hard as Steve. 

“Oh hell yeah, babe, just like that Brooklyn.” Tony’s voice grew rough as Steve’s hand clamped over his and sped up. It wasn’t a good idea normally--this was the point that things went wrong, when he sped past his own tolerances or got tripped up on his own hangups, but this time, this time Tony was perfectly attuned to him, it seemed, not quite working _against_ his control, but augmenting it, a perfect complement to his needs. 

Steve wanted faster? Tony allowed it, but gentled his grip and so that he didn’t chafe or irritate himself. Steve’s rhythm faltered and he slowed down letting himself indulge in the long slide back and forth? Tony worked in more lube and ran his free hand over Steve’s body, seeking out the myriad spots that sent pleasure jolting through him, always a different sensation, always a new area, a new rhythm, letting him wallow in the sublime chaos. 

Steve recovered enough of his wits to murmur “Harder, Tony,” and Tony’s grip grew stronger, more relentless, but the pressure wasn’t constant. Instead Tony squeezed his hand up and down his length, working over his erection, sometimes pausing to let Steve pump their hands up and down his hardness in a slick glide but then easing off into a new range of sensations when it threatened to become too much for Steve. 

“That’s it, babe, that’s good, c’mon Stevie, c’mon, does it feel good, you feel so good and I want you in me after this, babe, you sound so hot, scream so pretty for me, _fuck_ , the sounds you make, I want to pull those out of you all afternoon and all night, let me have it, Brooklyn.”

It wasn’t a steady climb, no, but a methodical overwhelming that never quite followed any set pattern and it was too much and too good and he’d not seen this side of his own desire since before the serum, and it was barrelling over him too fast for him to even keep up with now and Steve sobbed brokenly under Tony’s urging, feeling himself flush and the hot spray of the water on his skin wasn’t soothing anymore, it was registering even more intensely on his senses, pattering over his shoulders and back in heated little staccatos of pressure and...and...and…

Steve let out a stuttering cry as Tony suddenly latched onto one of his nipples, teasing the pert bud with his tongue. Tony alternated between circling it and flicking his tongue against it as Steve whimpered and moaned and writhed and _begged_. Tony suddenly twisted his left nipple at the same time as he sucked at the other one, an almost rough sensation that sent molten heat careening along his nerves and Steve’s knees buckled as he nearly whited out from the intense sensation of his orgasm crashing through him, shuddering and twitching and panting for breath as he collapsed on Tony.

Tony laughed wildly as they almost fell to the floor, a triumphant and joyous sound that Steve was unable to do anything with save answer with a muzzy, wry smile of his own, half-drunk in his afterglow. “Way to get almost crushed, genius.”

Tony scoffed, and Steve trembled as his warm brown eyes went dark and intense with carnal promise. “I’ve got you figured out now, Rogers. By the time I’m done with you, you won’t be able to form _words,_ much less sass at me _._ ”

They remained curled around each other, the wall their only support--and barely so--before Tony began to shift around for better purchase in order to help Steve regain his footing, then pushed him towards the shower door. “Head for the bathtub, Brooklyn. We’re not done yet.”

Steve got himself settled in the tub, leaning back against the built in cushion and stretching out fully so that the gently churning water bubbled and foamed across his body. Tony sprinkled a liberal amount of epsom salt into the tub, and the scent of eucalyptus and spearmint rose up from the steaming hot water as the crystals dissolved, mingling with the lavender and teakwood bubble bath Steve had borrowed once from Natasha and never returned. 

Heaven. This was Heaven, and if anyone tried to drag him out he was going to throw them right out the window. 

Tony disappeared into the bedroom while Steve soaked in the rich mineral bath, and he must have nodded off, because Tony was calling his name and gently running his hand through his hair, positioned just out of reach. Steve had asked once why Tony just didn’t shake him awake, and learned that it was in case Steve woke up startled and reacted badly. It hadn’t happened between them yet, but Tony had managed to provoke the same reaction from his best friend Jim Rhodes unawares after he returned from his first tour of duty in Desert Storm and those were the kind of lessons that stayed with you. Steve was grateful for the courtesy, honestly.

Tony continued to urge him out of the tub, and when Steve finally worked up the will to get out, Tony was waiting for him with an extremely soft towel that he used to pat him dry before leading him back into their bedroom. 

Steve let himself be pushed down on top of a pool of cool black satin sheets and buried his face in the mound of pillows, rubbing his cheeks over the slick fabric and breathing in the fading scent of the lavender dryer sheets mingled with the tobacco and sandalwood afternotes of Tony’s custom cologne, and enveloping it all, their mingled scents. Steve, long adjusted to his own, inhaled again as he stretched and shifted about until he was comfortable, seeking out Tony’s own unique scent. 

Tony climbed in after him, moving to straddle his waist, and Steve felt a jolt of interest roll through him as Tony’s erection pressed against him. Oh damn, Tony hadn’t gotten off back in the shower. He was such an inconsiderate ass. All of that time and attention, and he hadn’t even returned the fa--

“You think too much.” Tony smacked him playfully on the ass, nothing too hard, just enough to bring his attention back to Tony, and those devilishly wonderful hands, and Steve moaned as Tony rubbed a proprietary hand over his his cheeks, turning the stinging into a warm sort of throbbing that...that was kind of nice. Something to explore later, maybe? 

Steve tried to peer back at his lover, but the angle was all wrong, and Tony pressed his head back down into the pillows. “Relax, Steve. I’ll get my own, trust me, but I’m not quite done with you yet.”

“Tony, what a--” 

Steve trailed off in and let out a long groan as Tony bore down into his muscles. It hurt at first, but the gel Tony was was working into his back chilled his ache, and as he continued to work the knots out of Steve’s muscles, the initial cooling disappeared in a rush of comforting warmth, and soon Steve felt himself going limp, falling into a haze of relief and sheer bliss as Tony began to work what felt like decades of tension out of his sorely abused muscles.

After what felt like an hour, Steve’s back felt like warm goo, and Tony leaned further forward to begin the same process on his arms.

Steve registered Tony shifting around, and when those same (wonderful, glorious, magnificent) hands began to work over his glutes, Steve realized with a vague sort of interest that Tony had turned around, and Steve could only hope that….oh hell yes….

Tony’s attention had turned to his thighs and on down to his legs, and Steve just let himself float off, groaning and rumbling and purring in the back of his throat as Tony worked over him, the massage gel counteracting the initial discomfort and then magnifying the pleasurable relief he felt by warming him from what felt like inside out. 

Tony shifted off of him again, and Steve made a protesting noise as Tony’s comforting weight was removed, but then Tony got one of his feet in his hand, and pressed, and Steve went limp, entirely limp, as all of the remaining tensions fled his body. 

Well.

Not entirely. 

His erection, which hadn’t really faded but wasn’t fully demanding his attention in the wake of his climax, was back with a vengeance and the desperate moan that was pulled out of his throat was loud in what had been a peaceful silence. 

“Found your reset button.” 

Tony was, quite frankly, too smug about the wreck he’d reduced him to, but damn if he was going to say anything. Tony had more than earned the right. 

Steve tried to speak, made a noise that might have been please, might have been more, but was honestly just a horny garble of need as Tony continued his foot massage.

Steve had never felt so wonderful in his life. He wasn’t hurting, he wasn’t in danger, and for the first time since he serum, he was pretty sure he was going to get off again with little to no hiccups. He’d always been so keyed up, so distracted by everything else going on with his body that any attempt at relief ended with him frustrated or with one of the most awful orgasms inflicted on a man, somehow left unfulfilled despite reaching what was supposed to be the height of human pleasure. 

Not this time. Tony had been so...attentive, so keyed into his every want or need and yet refusing to let him go too far down any one path. It was a tactical maneuver to be proud of, keeping him constantly off balance and steadily driving him towards his goal without being blatant about it. Tony hadn’t let the pressure of actual reaching orgasm weigh him down, nor did he let him get stuck on anyone sensation, which would have left him in misery. No, Tony had fed him a jumble of pleasurable inputs that he couldn’t quite anticipate or keep up with, and Steve, thus undercut, had no other option but to just...succumb to Tony’s considerable skill. 

The soft and easy build of pleasure washed over him slowly, and Tony was keyed right into his responses, meeting--and sometimes anticipating--what he wanted without fail.

Tony finally released his feet, and when Steve complied with his request to turn back over, he was fully erect and leaking thick trails trails of precome. Tony licked his lips, and Steve jolted with anticipation, knowing that whatever followed next was going to leave him utterly wrung out, and he couldn’t wait. What Tony had done to him, _for_ him, he wanted more, so much more, wanted to lose himself in it and soak it all in, a reward long-deserved that was 

“Okay Brooklyn, lets take care of that--frankly massive--elephant in the room.” Tony hopped up onto the foot of the California King-sized bed, then began to prowl his way up between Steve’s legs eyes hooded and liquid hot with desire. 

Steve moved backwards with him in order to give him more room, stopping when he was reclining against the veritable wall of pillows, no where else for him to go. Not that he especially wanted to, anyway, what with Tony’s delicious heat over him and sinful promise radiating from his gaze. _I am going to_ wreckyou _, Steve Rogers,_ that look said. _I am going to leave you twitching and dazed and thoroughly ruined for anyone else._

Steve bucked up involuntarily, wanting, wanting, and impatient for the fall. 

Tony laughed, a playfully sinister thing, full of mischief and intent as he rode his shifting out like a pro bull rider. “Now, I think it would be truly awful for me to waste all of that effort I put in to making you nice and pliant by making you do the brunt of the work, so here’s what we’re going to do, tiger.” 

Tony leaned over him, pressing a light kiss to his jaw, to his neck, and then traced the curve of his ear with the tip of his tongue. Steve moaned, felt himself flush with want. God, he loved it when Tony played with his ears, with his neck, his skin so sensitive there...

“You sit back and relax, and i’m going to ride you until your brain dribbles right out of your ears.”

Good plan. 

“You’re going to come as much as you want, and then you’re going to sleep…”

Great plan. 

“...and when you wake up, I’m going to feed you a couple of steaks, and blow you under the table.”

Tony Stark was a damn _genius._

Steve hooked an arm around Tony’s neck and snatched him down in reply, pouring all of his desire and appreciation into a long and filthy kiss that was really more of a mauling than anything else, drinking in Tony’s whimpers and murmurs and soft gasps. He wanted _in_ Tony, anyway he could. His other arm trailed down Tony’s back, down past his tail bone in order to run a hand over the firm curve of Tony’s ass, then dip in between to-- _saints preserve him, this man…_

Tony made a smug noise in the back of his throat as he continued the kiss, angling his hips in order to grant Steve better access to the metallic head of the plug stretching him wide open.

Tony had, oh shit, Tony had fingered himself open, and suddenly the image was _there_ in his mind. Tony, naked and spread out on the bed, his eyes fluttering closed as he dropped one of those crafty fingers to his dick--Tony was so big, long and thick enough that he was easily able to backup everyone ounce of his swagger and dodge accusations of overcompensation--he would have slowly stroked himself until he was rock hard. 

Tony was methodical about it too--he let Steve watch, sometimes, let Steve direct him, but left to his own devices, Tony had a pattern. He always started at the head of his dick, always used the flat of his thumb to slowly circle it, dragging precome across the slit and then down and around in longer and longer winding strokes, always went top to bottom, in a spiral until he was twisting his hand down and around until he reached the base, squeezing once, and then sliding his hand back up to the tip and repeating it all again. When it got _really_ good to him, that wicked tongue of his would dart out, wetting his bottom lip and then Tony would gnaw at it, biting his lip as he worked himself up. He wasn’t a bucker, though. Tony’s rolled his hips and _undulated_ , his whole body rocking as he got closer and closer to his peak, then he would slow down, let himself come down a bit and then work himself back up to the edge again. 

Tony, greedy thing that he was, always took so long with it, especially if he had an audience. _Look at me,_ Tony seemed to say at those times, _look at me, and my stamina. I might be seasoned, might be unenhanced, but I would_ wear you out. _I’m Tony Fucking Stark, and you will never keep up with me._

And on those rare occasions that he switched it up and let Steve inside him? He _loved_ to make him watch, loved to put on a show. He would stretch his legs wider, until he was able to get lube on his finger, always started with his pointer finger, tracing his hole with lube until it glistened, then coated his finger again and slowly worked it in, always with the same pattern. Up, up, down, down, left, right, left right, then he would pump his finger in and out. It meant something, Steve knew it did, there was this gleam of wicked amusement in Tony’s eyes everytime he prepped himself, the same gleam Tony got whenever he hurled a pop-culture reference at Steve that went right over his head. Tony would repeat it until he had either three or four fingers inside him--usually four because Steve was so much larger than him--and then he would continue to stroke himself with one hand as he worked the other inside of him..but with the plug? 

Did Tony stop? Just work himself open and stick it in? He doubted it. Tony was too self-indulgent for that. No, he’d probably took the plug, traced himself with it, slowly worked it in and then pumped it in and out, nudging it against his prostate while he stroked himself off. Tony was quiet in the bedroom, all whimpers and low moans, husky, broken pleading... but alone? Was Tony noisy alone, giving reign to the need to vocalize his pleasure, or did he keep to the sweetly obscene murmurs and pleas, a dark and low tribute to his pleasure? He probably came so hard on it, twitching and gasping and--and--

“Holy shit, darling.” 

Steve snapped his eyes open, looking up into Tony’s smirking face. He...he was dripping with precome again, just leaking, and his nerves were alight, thrumming with pleasure, and he hadn’t come yet, but...but _holy hell, he’d been close,_ so close, trembling at the edge of something glorious. Tony reached down, stroked hair back from his damp forehead--he was so hot, flushed hot and sweaty and _aching_ for more--and then pressed a light kiss Steve’s lips. 

“Where’d you go babe?” Tony’s voice was soft and quiet, not mocking but...pleased? Wondering, maybe. “You got so hot for me, Brooklyn, I thought you were going to leave me behind and shoot right off. You were so hot, _what did you see?_ ” Tony rolled his hips against Steve, and he barked out a loud gasp, so close, so close--Tony made a shushing noise, gently caressed his cheek with the back of his hand, humming approvingly as Steve rubbed against it. “I almost thought about letting you get yourself off again, but I don’t know if you have a third round in you. Do you want it, Steve? Do you want to come again? You looked _glorious_ , Stevie, hell, I almost came just watching you, do you want it?” 

Steve was lost to it, not even registering Tony’s words, not really, recognizing them more as that maddeningly enticing drone that played havoc with his hearing and sent pleasurable little tremors deep down into his head, down his spine, speaking lust into his every limb and calling it forth with touches and caresses that trapped him further and further under Tony’s spell until he was left reeling, rocking and tossed on a sea of desire that seemed to move with him, move in a counterpoint that carried him further and further away towards a brilliant end that--that--wait--wha-- _oh Tony…_

When Steve came back to himself, he was limp, boneless with pleasure, utterly satisfied and ears ringing--he’d been screaming, shouting Tony’s name, he’d--he’d come again, he was sticky and a mess, long ropes of come shot over Tony’s chest and across his own stomach, and hell, Steve wasn’t sure he even had it in him to feel _ashamed_ , and Tony looked startled, but that look was slowly fading into an expression of glee and Steve really ought to apologize, though, just as soon as he could get his breathing back under control, and he opened his mouth to fumble for words, but that was a moot point. Tony swooped down to meet him, crushing their lips together much as he had earlier, kissing him to within an inch of his life, until he was light-headed and grinning dazedly up at him. 

“You sexy beast. That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life, holy crap, Steve.” Tony tucked his head into the crook of his neck. “You need to go off on that kind of a tangent _all the time,_ Jesus. What were you thinking about?” 

Steve huffed out a self-deprecating laugh. “You, actually. The plug...I...got distracted with how you got it in, and then…” Steve trailed off, shrugged eloquently, and traced tiny circles into Tony’s hips. The skin there was red, shaped like his fingers. He must have gripped him so tightly…

“Did I hurt you?” 

“Only blue balls by now, but I can take care of myself, and honestly, I’m just glad I got to see that, do you know how fucking _hot_ it was, watching you half-out of your mind like that? You were like sin incarnate, it was _very_ compelling.” Tony grinned, traced a finger over Steve’s chest. 

“I got to admit, it was pretty damn inspiring to watch.” 

Steve’s lips quirked up into a wry grin. It had been pretty damn inspiring thinking about the plug, too. He traced a finger around the head of the plug, delighting in the way it made Tony shiver and tremble against him, and tugged at it gently, easing it out in steady, measured increments. Tony had planned every single part of this late afternoon venture, including prepping himself for Steve--and good lord, what a mental image that had made.

Steve’s dick hardened again, stirring to life underneath Tony’s weight, and a pregnant silence fell between them, Tony looking like every major holiday had come at once bearing copious amount of presents. Steve wasn’t sure what he felt--there was a bit of appalled horror because _he hadn’t known he was capable of a third round,_ this was ridiculous, and that just didn’t _happen_ to normal people, and oh fuck, this had to be the serum. There was a bit of fear--was this a thing--was he always going to spring wood now, as if his body was just going to constantly hand erections over as some sort of consolation for the utter wreck he’d been ever since he had the serum? Mostly, though, was a rising sense of euphoria, like he’d felt when he’d finally gotten to really cut loose after getting the serum. 

“Steve, Stevie, what the fuck?” Tony’s expression was mystified. “I...holy shit I think I’m jealous, no I know I am, what the hell did they _put_ in the serum? You don’t see this shit outside of pornos, babe, and I’m really, really, glad to be part of this endeavor right now. You’re going to let me on that right now, _please_ , don’t be selfish, Brooklyn.”

Tony was going to speak again, but broke off in a happy grunt as Steve manhandled him into a more comfortable position so that he could get at the plug again. Steve tossed the wide plug aside while Tony rooted around underneath the pillows until he produced a black and gold bottle of lube--waterproof and extra-slick because _of course_ Tony shelled out for the fancy stuff--and snapped it open. Tony took hold of Steve’s erection and lubed it up with the same quick but efficient touch he’d used in the shower, then shoved the tube back under the nest of pillows. 

“Go to town, Cap.”

Steve, who’d been utterly shit for words ever since Tony got a hold of him when he got back to their room, just mumbled what he hoped was a “please hurry up”, already letting himself sink back into his blissed out headspace, and bucked his hips impatiently. 

Tony grinned down at him, and then lined himself up with Steve’s cock and then all Steve could do was moan fervently as Tony eased himself down. Tony rarely bottomed for Steve because he was so damn girthy and getting him stretched wide enough to accommodate would take almost an hour by itself, but oh god, what it did for him…Steve rolled his hips slowly, engulfed in Tony’s tight warmth and loving every moment of it. 

Tony, seemingly overwhelmed by the internal friction, slumped forward, bracing himself against Steve’s pecs as he twitched and shuddered, his breath coming out in strained huffs. 

“Oh shit...why are you _so damn big_ , I...okay, okay…” 

Steve rubbed soothing circles against Tony’s hip bone, and forced himself to stay still while Tony gathered his control back up. After a long moment, Tony lifted himself up and let himself drop back down, his punched out moan mingling with Steve’s own thready whine as Tony’s thumb brushed against his nipple. 

Tony, who was apparently still mentally present enough to _torture him_ , lightly pinched his right nipple, and Steve’s hips snapped up as Tony drove himself back down on his dick, pulling another one of those wonderful low moans out. 

Steve let his eyes drift close as Tony found his rhythm, bucking his hips up to meet the rocking grind and tight slide as Tony got both hands involved in toying with his nipples. Steve had never known they could be so deliciously sensitive--when Tony brushed his fingers across the straining nubs, pleasure, sharp and brilliant, shot down his spine. When Tony rolled them between his fingers, lightly squeezing and pulling at them, the pleasure turned slow and liquid, pooling through his lower body. 

They worked each other up slowly, Steve too large and wide to do anything except rub and push against Tony’s prostate with every thrust, and Tony so gone on it that his teasing had devolved into reflexive clutching and squeezing of his pecs. That was coupled with the steady swipe of Tony’s thumbs back and forth over his nipples, and Steve whimpered and moaned and groaned and panted and cried out louder and louder as his orgasm suddenly built up lightning fast. It wasn’t like the shower, where he’d been coaxed and played masterfully into one, or like the one he’d just had that he hadn’t even expected until he was there, cratered in the aftermath of it.

There was no staving this one off as every ounce of the pleasure buzzing in his veins, (along his nerves, deep in his muscles, all throughout his body,) was drawn towards his groin, rocketing towards the point of no return. 

Tony let out a broken sob and threw his head back, gasping for breath, and it was all too much for Steve and he rolled them over in order to get better leverage as he pumped himself in and out of Tony, lost to his own pleasure again. This one was even better than the shower, better than the one he’d had earlier because he was fully aware of this one and not gone off on a mental jaunt, and all he felt was good and relaxed and so damn wonderful. It had been so long, it had been so long and it was so good, so perfect, and he loved it, had never felt like so completely blissed-out and at peace in his life, and he wanted more, more, _more_ …

Tony met him thrust for thrust, automatically curving his arms over his shoulders as Steve continued to move inside of him and grew almost impossibly harder, and it was too much and not enough and Tony quivered and writhed beneath him, completely at his mercy. 

Steve grabbed Tony by the underside of his knees and yanked him up at an angle so that he was flat on his back and aligned perfectly with Steve’s dick so all he had to do was piston in and out of that _glorious heat._ Tony dropped his arms to the sheets and snatched up great handfuls of them, and Steve could’ve built him a shrine for having enough presence of mind not to dig his nails deep into his shoulder blades and _claw at him_ like he so obviously wanted to. 

Steve’s third orgasm of the day sizzled up and down his spine before breaking over him, and Tony twisted and undulated as Steve pulsed deep inside him, tensing and straining and desperately pleading for Steve to finish him, and god, how could he refuse him? Tony had thrown himself so thoroughly into tending to Steve’s every whim, _of course_ he was going to repay that, and Steve wrapped a hand around Tony, pumping his copiously leaking erection as he continued to rock inside of his wet heat, enjoying the frissons of bliss from the aftershocks of his orgasm, and then Tony sucked in his breath and screamed silently, breath whooshing out of him as he came in long ropes that splattered against Steve’s stomach, his chest, completely overwhelmed. 

Steve stroked him through it until Tony was left a wrung-out and whimpering mess of a man, then collapsed on his side, flushed and sweaty and panting for breath. He closed his eyes, suddenly too tired to keep them open, and there was a bit of shifting around, and then Tony was wiping him off with a warm, moist towel, his torso and groin and thighs, and _God bless the man_ , and Steve swore that he was going to thank him, going to find a way to make it up to him, maybe after dinner...whenever that was...Steve mumbled appreciatively as Tony pressed a soft kiss to his forehead, and let himself slip away off into sleep. 

He had always been in pain, but for the first time in a very long, long time, he wasn't.


End file.
